Sanctuary
by Araven14
Summary: Three instances when Nezumi sat in the dark and thought. Oneshot.


**My first No. 6 fic! I feel like I want to crawl under a rock and die, but I got back from holiday earlier today... or yesterday, as it is now, and since I already had most of this typed out I wanted to get it done and posted... I then got distracted by everything I had missed (I had no laptop and crap wifi for my iPod D':. By the by, last episode of No. 6 MADE MY LIFE... but I'm getting sidetracked (it's a habit))**

**This is actually the most nervous I have ever been about posting a fic, but I think that's because I tried changing my style a little bit to see how it worked out... and because Nezumi's a bloody difficult character to pin down, so I hope I didn't do too badly :/ And its quarter past two in the morning, so my emotions are a little whacked.**

**May be some spelling/grammar errors, since it's the wee small hours, I am a lazy arse and I have no beta. Please feel free to point out any errors if you spot them :) Thanks in advance XD**

**Some NezumixShion/Sion, but no more than in canon. So, you know, lots of random touching and whatnot.**

**Disclaimer: God I wish I owned these boys. I would be the happiest girl alive.**

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><p>His room is dark. Once, he thinks he might have hated that, but now it's a blessing. In the dark, he has the advantage. In the dark, he isn't quite so helpless. He's a mouse, after all, and it makes sense that he would be nocturnal. At least, that's what he keeps telling himself, over and over, his soft voice the only sound besides the thudding rhythm of his heartbeat.<p>

_Why is it so quiet when I know that they're screaming?_

The mouse can't remember a time when he was afraid of the dark. He supposes that there probably was a time, because that's only natural, right? He thinks so, though he doesn't have much to base his assumptions on.

_Only the others, more terrified than me and broken already – we communicate through silent whispers and hasty glances shot across the corridors in brief moments._

They – and he doesn't know who they are, not really, and so he has never bothered to give them any names beyond simply 'they' and 'one of them' – seem to think that keeping his room in a state of perpetual night is some sort of punishment. He knows what they're trying to do to him, but they don't seem to realise that this means nothing to him.

_The night is my home and my shelter and my protection. The dark is my sanctuary._

The light is much worse, on the rare occasions that it bursts into his world of darkness. It's bright, far too bright, and it's painful for him to open his eyes even a crack. The light shows him this room in all of its painfully dull detail, and he hates that. The light reminds him that he's trapped, that for now he's their prisoner. Not that he intends to remain that way.

_Soon, so soon, I can tastetouchsmellfeel it._

He's a mouse after all, quick-witted and agile, and those idiots have the gall to try to make him their prey. But they're slow; slow and stupid and blind, and he thinks to himself that it won't be much longer before he can leave here and it's false night and false comfort.

_This darkness that isn't true darkness, that tries to smother me if I let down my guard._

Not much longer before he can see the stars again.

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><p>This room is also dark, but it's a different dark – one caused by the heavy, rolling clouds outside and by his own choice to leave the light switch well alone. He's waiting again, but this feels different as well; he's in more pain now, but the pain is good – grounding and clean and so very <em>real<em>. Real like the cool water that still drips from the ends of his hair, and real like the warmth of the boy's (Shion, he reminds himself idly) throat beneath his bloodied hand.

_Those fearless brown eyes watching and waiting for something I don't know how to give._

He thinks that he likes this darkness more – it's warm and comfortable and he can see just as well as he can in the daylight. Everything is laid out before him in the spacious room, and he sees it all, takes it all in. The bed beneath him is soft, and he stretches out, hardly noticing the way the movement tugs on his stitches.

_Healing, it's healing and I fancy I can feel it already, the wound closing beneath the ghost of warmth that he left behind._

He likes it here, and he thinks he likes Shion too, as much as one can like a total stranger. He likes his foolish naivety, his gentle hands and most of all, he likes his warmth. It's all oddly refreshing; he'd almost forgotten that living humans were so warm.

_When was the last time anyone touched me without meaning harm? _

Now, alone in the dark again, the memories start to come back, and he twists his hands in the bed-sheets to ground himself – remind himself that he's really _here_, with a stupid child that he could kill with his eyes shut. Of course he won't, not unless he's really desperate, but the knowledge that he _could_ is reassuring.

_I won't do it, I won't because those eyes and that scream beckon me even now, I won't do it even if I have to._

The door opens, and he tells Shion not to switch the light on. He likes it better like this, and besides, it's funny to watch the boy stumbling around helplessly in his own room. Shion doesn't like the dark, he can't see in it, and he tells him so, though it's painfully obvious to anyone with eyes. This boy, this Shion, is so earnest in everything he does – from the small meal he can easily spare but doesn't have to (and _shouldn't, no-one should be so trusting_) to his apparent inability to keep his questions to himself. He thinks that Shion would make a terrible liar, and then wonders if the boy has ever had to lie before tonight. What would he have to lie about in this perfect life of his?

_Me, now, he has to lie about me and that's dangerous here, where anything imperfect is destroyed._

A child genius who should be perfectly content with his lot in life should have no reason to take in a VC – and Shion knows what he is, knows that he must have done some terrible, unforgiveable crime... And still, the boy offers him stew and cherry cake.

_Delicious._

The mouse's mind is full of thick fog, the air cold against his feverish skin, and when he sees Shion lunging at him to stop the cruel words that won't stop falling from his mouth, he reacts before he has time to think. Before another word can leave the boy's lips, he is flat on the bed, completely helpless beneath the mouse, a spoon pressed to his neck in lieu of a knife. And Shion, stupid Shion, just tells him how amazing it is that the mouse can pin him with such ease; it breaks the tension well enough, and the mouse rolls to one side, murmuring to himself as Shion tells him he's burning up. _I could have told you that,_ he thinks, but he doesn't complain and only asks that he be allowed to sleep.

_I'm tired. I want to sleep and you've already done too much for me. Let me rest._

Shion may be the stupidest genius alive and ridiculously easy to tease, but his skin is warm beneath the mouse's, and their hands remain clasped tightly around one another as he presses his face into the soft brown hair that smells of something clean and fresh that he doesn't recognise. _This is what living humans feel like_, he thinks drowsily as his eyes begin to slide shut, and he can't help but think that it feels nice, this warm darkness that envelopes them both.

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><p>It's different now, Nezumi decides. He's in the dark again, still waiting, still watching. Only this time, he knows his surroundings, is familiar with every crease on every page of every book, and the only thing out of place is the boy lying on his bed. He keeps the room dark because Shion's face scrunches up in pain whenever he switches on the light (why does that hurt <em>him<em>, in the darkest, deepest reaches of his chest?) and he can't deny that he prefers it like this. Nezumi has no problem with sitting in the dark.

_This dark is warmsafecomfortablefamiliar._

Shion is strong, stronger than Nezumi could ever have predicted, even after four years of watching the boy grow into not-quite a man; he saw his own death, Nezumi knew, and his softly-spoken words told Nezumi how strong he truly was, to accept the one thing Nezumi never could.

'_Let me go'? You know me better than that. I won't let you die before you know what you've done for me._

Nezumi is restless, though, watching the near-lifeless boy on his bed. Shion's eyes remain closed, and his now-white hair is matted with sweat. His hand around Nezumi's is alarmingly clammy, and Nezumi can't help but think that it shouldn't feel like this. Shion's still alive; his hand should be warm and gentle and surprisingly strong, the same as it was four years ago. They've both changed so much, but Shion shouldn't feel like this. It's just one more thing that No. 6 has taken from them, and Nezumi feels his resentment grow with every laboured breath Shion takes. Nezumi's free hand brushes Shion's hair back from his forehead, and he leans over to press his own face against Shion's – a crude but familiar way of checking his temperature.

_He did this for me_.

Nezumi can recall it vaguely, the memory of gentle hands and warm skin dulled by the fever-induced haze he had been in.

_My first good memory. Of course it would be this idiot._

For a few moments everything is silent, apart from two sets of breathing, not quite in time with one another. Nezumi shifts slightly, turning his head so that he can press his ear against Shion's chest and listen to the steady _thu-thump _of his heartbeat. It's soothing, and Nezumi feels his eyes close against his will, lulled into sleep by the sounds of life and the blanket of darkness. It's been days since he's slept properly, catching quick naps whenever possible in the chair by his bed.

_You'd do this and so much more for me, wouldn't you?_

As long as he can still hear Shion's heart beating and feel the warmth of his skin, he's content to wait in the darkness for the only one that gives a damn.

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><p><strong>So... Much... Fluff. Gah, I'm choking on the stuff.<strong>

**Would you believe this was originally going to be a seriously angsty character exploration? Geez.**

**Well, reviews would be much appreciated... and so would constructive criticism.**


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